Eduard Bernstein My Years of Exile

Eduard Bernstein My Years of Exile Reminiscences of a Socialist (1915/1921) 1 My Years of Exile Eduard Bernstein Halaman 2 Originally published in German in 1915. English translation published 1922. Translated by Bernard Miall. Transcribed by Ted Crawford. Marked up by Einde O’Callaghan for the Marxists’ Internet Archive . Author’s Preface I. Across the St. Gotthard in 1878 II. In and about Lugano thirty years ago III. A bitter winter in Lugano IV. In Zurich V. Life and work in Zurich VI. Secret congresses and banishment from Switzerland VII. Visits to, and exile in, London VIII. London peculiarities and English characteristics IX. Engels’ house and his “evenings” X. The socialist intellectuals in England XI. The life of the peoples and the proletarian socialist in England My Years of Exile Eduard Bernstein Halaman 3 Author’s Preface AT the request of the editor of the Weisse Blätter , René Schickele, I decided in the late autumn of 1915, to place on record a few reminiscences of my years of wandering and exile. These reminiscences made their first appearance in the above periodical, and now, with the kind permission of the editor, for which I take this opportunity of expressing my sincere thanks, I offer them in volume form to the reading public, with a few supplementary remarks and editorial revisions. My principal thought, in writing these chapters, as I remarked at the time of their first appearance, and repeat to-day, was to record my impressions of the peoples whose countries have given me a temporary refuge. At the same time I have also made passing allusion to the circumstances which caused me to make the acquaintance of these peoples and countries. And. further, it seemed to me not amiss to add, from time to time, and by the way, a few touches of self- portraiture. For I have made no attempt to produce a learned or instructive volume which should possess an objective value, but have only sought to give utterance to personal impressions and experiences, and, for good or ill, to tell something of the character of the writer. Reminiscences are fragments of our lives, and it is not easy to relate incidents which are closely connected with the development of one’s own character without reference to the latter. These reminiscences begin with the journey which in 1878 led to my leaving my country for over twenty years. The first pages tell of a journey made by many, which was not accompanied by any events that could of themselves excite the reader’s interest. My justification for speaking of it resides, I think, in the fact that the most important part of My Years of Exile Eduard Bernstein Halaman 4 this journey to the South was made in a fashion unknown to the present generation. It made a very deep impression on me, which lives in my memory even to-day, and I can only hope that I have succeeded in conveying something of this impression to my reader. Note to the English edition I must ask my English and American readers to remember that the chapters of this book were written and first published, as was the book itself, during the war, when the military censorship was in force and national prejudices and worse were running very high. ED. B. BERLIN SCHÖNEBERG, September 1920. My Years of Exile Eduard Bernstein Halaman 5 CHAPTER I Across the St. Gotthard in 1878 IN the late summer of 1878 Karl Höchberg – since deceased – inquired whether I should care to accompany him on his travels as secretary on the staff of the Socialist periodical, Die Zukunft , of which he was then the publisher. It was an enticing offer for one who, like myself, had done very little travelling, and except for a visit to Vienna, in the summer of 1872, had so far seen nothing of foreign countries. So I set aside the material considerations which might have deterred me: the danger of giving up a safe, and – in respect of my requirements – a sufficiently well-paid post in a bank in exchange for a position which would probably be only a temporary one; and I accepted. Höchberg, who was compelled, owing to a chronic affection of the lungs, to seek a warmer climate, wrote to me saying that he was going in the first place to Lugano, and that he would expect me there. My knowledge of the beautiful city on the banks of the Ceresio was at that time extremely slight. But the mere sound of the word had a magical effect upon me, and I joyfully set forth, on the 12th October 1878, on the journey which was to take me for the first time into Switzerland. But I had no foreboding that this journey was also to exile me from my native country, and the city of my birth, Berlin, for more than twenty years. The journey to Basle occupied two nights and a day; the day I spent in Frankfort-on-the-Main, in order to visit, at Höchberg’s wish, his family and two of his friends. One of these friends – who died only recently – was well known, as a sociologist and politician, to the people’s party; this was My Years of Exile Eduard Bernstein Halaman 6 Dr. Karl Flesch, a town councillor, a deputy to the Landtag, and a newly fledged barrister: the other was G. Schnapper- Arndt, a man of letters, whose knowledge of social politics was the fruit of a mass of valuable research work. My visit to Frankfort was made as pleasant as could be by these two gentlemen, as well as by Höchberg’s family – which did not prevent my passing the second night of my journey, as well as the first, absolutely without sleep. But I slept on the third night. On the morning of the 14th October we came to Basle, and thence we proceeded by way of Olten to Lucerne. From Lucerne we had to take the boat to Flüelen, and thence we set forth by diligence over the St. Gotthard Pass, for the St. Gotthard Railway was then only in course of construction. Fortunately so, I may say, for I had to thank this circumstance for one of the most beautiful memories of my life. My first impression of Switzerland, obtained through the window of the railway carriage, and later from the deck of the steamer, was something of a disillusion. The morning was cold, wet, and misty, and the lower slopes of the Alps, through which we were then travelling, – and which since then, with their wealth of alluring and constantly changing landscapes, have become, for me, an ever-renewed source of rapturous delight, – by no means came up to the conceptions of the Swiss mountains which my imagination had painted for me. So far my eye was completely unable to form an estimate of mountain and valley, and because the apparent height of the mountains did not correspond with my anticipations, the beauties of their wooded slopes, and the charm of their surrounding plains and meadows, My Years of Exile Eduard Bernstein Halaman 7 escaped me. Consequently the Rigi and even Pilatus fell short of my expectations, and my disillusion was of course increased by the fact that the highest peaks of these mountains were hidden in cloud. Owing to the dullness of the day even the Lake of the Four Cantons was not seen all at once in its full beauty. But when we had left Beckenried and Gersau behind us the weather suddenly cleared, and near Brunnen, as the steamer entered the last limb of the lake – the Urner section – the lake was suddenly unrolled before me, shining with the most wonderful blue, and surrounded by the ever-aspiring mountains, with the mighty Uri- Rotstock and the Bristenstock in the background. So enchanting was the picture that only one thing was lacking to raise the exaltation that took possession of me to the highest conceivable degree: the sympathetic human soul beside me, to whom I could have expressed all that filled my mind and struggled for release. Although the vessel was well filled with passengers I had not made any close acquaintance among them, which was less their fault than mine, and on my part it was assuredly due less to any lack of goodwill than to a lack of social dexterity. To strike up a conversation with a fellow-traveller, or for that matter with any stranger, is to me almost always a matter of insuperable difficulty. And in those days especially I belonged to that category of travellers which I am to-day in the habit of calling the passive category. I am not aware whether any one has anticipated me in making this division, but at the risk of repeating what has already been said I should like here in passing to remark that of all the many classes of travellers two is particular may be sharply distinguished: they are, the active travellers and the passive travellers. The first are the true artists of My Years of Exile Eduard Bernstein Halaman 8 travel: they know everything worth knowing about the journey they are about to make, and they see everything that repays a glance. They find their way about everywhere and at all times, as easily as possible, and they contrive to manage their fellow-travellers as it suits their wishes or their needs. Very different is the class of those whom I call the passive travellers, because they allow themselves to be dispatched rather than travel in the true sense of the word.

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